THE DAY OF THE IGUANA

Nothing unusual happened today—unless you count that thing with the iguana… 

There I was, sitting on my front porch with my feet up minding my own business, staring out at a desert full of cactus, creosote bushes, and tumbleweeds, when the dang iguana wandered up on the porch. He stood staring up at me, his long skinny tongue darting back and forth like he thought I was the most delicious thing he’d seen all day. 

Now, if you’ve never seen an iguana before, those suckers grow big! Not like those little pets you see in stores plopped down in big, plastic buckets. This guy must’ve been five feet long, especially if you count that yardstick tail he drug up the steps behind him. I thought I was gonna mess my britches before I could get on the other side of the screen door. But soon as I did, he gives me this pitiful little look that says he’s lost his best friend. And I swear a tear ran down his scaly face. 

Never one to hurt a guy’s feelings, I says to him, “Baby, it wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t so god-awful ugly. Look at that skin! You done look like you been out in the sun way too long. And those fingernails! Honey, what you really need is a manicure.” 

So up I get to the bathroom, collect my little basket of clippers, emery boards, and cuticle scissors, and march right back out on that porch. Sure enough, he’s still there, still looking sad and forlorn. I open up my basket and get to work. 

I’m here to tell you, that iguana spread-eagled on that porch and lay there just as patient as if I was his mama fixing him a bowl of Ramen Noodles, and then tossing in two ice cubes to cool it off. 

In no time, I finished my job and put my things back in my little basket. I could’ve sworn the prissy critter smiled as he turned and ambled off the porch with the brightest, prettiest jungle-red fingernails you done ever seen. 

And that was my day—the day of the iguana.